


You do not have to be good

by Iriascend



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Red Hood: Lost Days
Genre: Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Inspired by Poetry, Jason Todd Has a Heart, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Jason Todd-centric, POV Jason Todd, Poetry, no beta we die like robins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:01:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25725535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iriascend/pseuds/Iriascend
Summary: "We don't read and write poetry because it's cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion."Dead Poets SocietyJason is strongly moved by a poem. Strongly enough to make an attempt to change his life.
Relationships: Batfamily Members & Jason Todd
Comments: 4
Kudos: 81





	You do not have to be good

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Wild geese comic](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/661690) by h-l-w. 



His visits to the library are about the only regular and stable thing about his life. He knows the building, the selection and even the employees like the back of his hand by now. But he’s never been too social, and his line of work definitely dissuades him from becoming now, so he avoids the meetings and book clubs and events held here. Who would want a brick wall like him to join, anyway? He still remembers the slight panic in the poor librarian’s eyes when he first approached her desk and still can hear the uneasy murmurs that follow him every time he visits. Jason is well aware he looks out of place in a library, but they can pry books out of his dead cold hands. He’d rather die again than live without them. So he keeps coming. 

But it thus doesn’t come as a surprise to him when the boy surrounded by a ring of eager listeners in the corner of the room stutters as Jason passes what looks like a poetry recital. The title and author of what the boy is about to deliver slip out of his mouth in a voice sounding entirely too high-pitched, and his eyes are glued to Jason’s criminal-presenting posture and his leather jacket like he expects Jason to start a brawl or hold them hostage at any moment. Which, fair, he could, and it wouldn’t be an event much out of the ordinary, not in Gotham. 

If anyone tried to wreak havoc in a library Jason would not hesitate to kill, he muses.

Okay, maybe he’d hesitate a little bit, worried that blood might stain the books.

The boy misses a beat or two under Jason’s glare, mouth agape. But to give credit where it’s due, though, he manages to utter the first line of the poem even as Jason smirks at him. He does it to mess with him a little bit because he enjoys messing with people. He’s just a bastard like that. 

_“_ ** _You do not have to be good_ ** _—”_

Jason stops in his tracks. He never was much into poetry — preferring straight-forward prose over confusing and winding metaphors — but that, that sounds interesting. He leans on a nearby bookshelf, deciding to stay and listen. 

His thoughts drift back to the Bats, to his _family._ He tried to be good. He really did. Even though _he_ was the victim, the one who got forsaken, forgotten, cast away and replaced, never loved unconditionally, only worth something as a _good little soldier_ … He tried to be good. It didn’t work. Now he wants to see what a poem has to say about it — literature always has good takes on things.

Gradually, the boy regains his composure and manages to continue through his chosen poem. Maybe the fact Jason closes his eyes and smiles, softly, helps a little bit. 

He thinks of it later, when his mind wanders during his patrol. It’s not the best time to analyze poetry. But he’s got nothing else to occupy his mind with when his mere presence sometimes is enough to disperse the petty criminals he drops down onto. He’s not sure how the poem stuck with him so much. It’s definitely not about him, not about people like him, and yet— 

**_You do not have to walk on your knees_** ** _  
_** **_for a hundred miles through the desert repenting._**

— and yet, or maybe because of it, it hits home. The words bring back all the times he’s had a screaming match with the one Bats (both these days and in times long gone), how he fought with them and hated them, hated the world. How the world hated him back, ever since he was born. All the more since he was _re_ born. 

He tried to reconcile, once. Make them proud, make them love him — maybe _again,_ maybe _at all._ He gave up on that, soon. Decided to hold onto the last scrap of sense of self-worth he had instead of giving it up for an equally sad scrap of conditional affection.

Jason shakes his head to clear his mind. Patrol is not the time to ponder these things, especially not with the task at hand.

“Ya okay?” he glances over the kid curled up against the wall. She looks scrawny and scared, like all street rats. Maybe even doubly so, because Jason knows well girls have it twice as hard out there. As evidenced by him just having had chased away good five creeps trying to manhandle her.

The girl doesn’t react, except for curling up into a tighter ball and trying to scurry away from him like a cornered animal. He sighs, then taps the side of his helmet. It opens, revealing his masked face.

 ** _You only have to let the soft animal of your body_** ** _  
_** **_love what it loves._**

Jason smiles at her fondly, softly, hoping his face can convey the _you’re safe_ that his stature and the situation at hand can’t. “I ain’t gonna hurt ya. You hungry? Do you have a place to stay the night?”

The sight of his face makes her a little bit less tense, but not yet trusting. And rightly so, he thinks, it’s Gotham after all. Even if she heard of the Red Hood, even if she heard the good things about him, she possibly heard just as much _bad_ things. And either way, not trusting anyone ever is still a very solid motto for someone from the Narrows. “Imma gonna leave ya be, promise, jus’ makin’ sure nobody’s gonna give ya trouble tonight.”

“They— “ she begins weakly, and it sounds like she had been screaming for quite some time with how hoarse her voice is. “They took my little sister.”

Red Hood has to make a conscious effort not to see literal red at that moment. His hands ball into fists on reflex, anyway.

“Who?”

She shakes her head, slowly standing up, holding onto the wall behind her for support. 

“I think they were the same guys. Someone dragged her into a van, then sped off. ”

Jason nods, growling in anger quietly. Looks like he found his mission for tonight. 

**_Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine._ **

“Let’s get’cha home, okay? And you’ll tell me all ‘bout yer sister on the way,” he says, extending his hand towards her. 

The girl agrees with a nod and takes the hand. “Thank you, Red Hood, uh- sir..”

He flashes her a grin. “Hood’s enough,” he says before closing his helmet back again. “Alley kids gotta stick together, right?”

She smiles weakly, reassured that the big bad Red Hood is far less scary, far less alien than he seems — and far more human, just as broken as she and like are. 

“Thanks, Hood.”

She leads him down the road and starts talking about what Jason assumes is a new trafficking operation trying to take a root around.

They’re new. It shouldn’t surprise him after he saw them scram at the mere _sight_ of a vigilante; most seasoned goons at _try_ to do something against him, while newbies are usually cowards. They’re also stupid. That’s the only explanation to how they thought they could get away with stealing kids in Hood’s territory with their lack of experience. 

**_Meanwhile the world goes on._ **

Someone possibly outsourced grabbing kids to them. There’s a bigger fish somewhere underneath it, for sure. He’ll have to look into it later. 

For now, Jason is happy to deliver a couple terrified kids back to their families and drop five idiots tied together at the nearest police station. He’d gladly nail them to the wall with a bullet or two, but he knew it’d make Bats big angry and that’s the last thing he needs.

 ** _Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain_** ** _  
_** **_are moving across the landscapes,_**

There’s also a smidge of hope that they could be maybe reformed. It’s their first fuck up, after all, and Jason knows what desperation and poverty do to people. Especially when someone offers money just in exchange for a random kid or two.

Not that he can excuse it. Just, after all these years… he can understand. 

**_over the prairies and the deep trees,_** ** _  
_** **_the mountains and the rivers._**

He drops by a trusted fast food place on his way back and grabs three big bags of food. He leaves some at the windowsill of each of the kids he rescued, and grabs a chilidog for himself, too. 

With it, he drops down to sit at the edge of a building and admires the sunrise for a moment. He likes to do that, in the rare occurrence where a case keeps him up all throughout the night, like today. To say it’s been a long, tiring night would be an understatement. But in his book, it was definitely worth it. If it meant the kids didn’t have to spend another day in a scary place, Jason calls that a major win. Vigilantes versus evil, a score for vigilantes.

 ** _Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,_** ** _  
_** **_are heading home again._**

He spots a neon blue shadow swinging a couple of blocks down the road, and immediately recognizes the sleek uniform of Nightwing. Apparently, it’s been a long night for the Bats, too.

He feels a pang in his heart, some kind of longing. For once he doesn’t try to push it down. He enjoys the feeling of morning sun and dew on the skin of his face. Closes his eyes for a while, reminiscing of the good old days where he looked up to Dick, and where Dick, during the occasional times he’d visit the Manor, would play games with him and make jokes with him. He misses Alfred’s cookies and the cozy warmth of the plush sofa in the upstairs library. 

Jason sighs. If only he could go back to those innocent times. Take it all back and forget about all the pain. The pain he felt, and the pain he caused.

He opens his eyes and sees Nightwing again, standing on top of a building, waving at him. 

He hesitates, then grapples over there.

**_Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,_ **

“Hey, I know it’s weird, but— “ Nightwing starts, fiddling with his hand, very unlike himself. “Happy birthday.”

Jason blinks. Oh yeah. He has a birthday. He completely forgot that it’s a thing that people do, celebrating the day you were born.

“Huh,” he responds flatly. 

Nightwing smiles. “If you want, I can get you some of the birthday cookies Agent A bakes every year.”

“What?” He starts back, blinking. “What cookies?”

“He bakes cookies for your birthday every year,” Dick says, a little confused, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “If you meet me in the evening, I could bring you some. His cookies are the bomb and I _bet_ you love them as much as I do. The birthday ones the best, he even frosts them.”

**_the world offers itself to your imagination,_ **

For a moment Jason is again thirteen and curled up on a chair at the kitchen island, chatting away Alfred’s ear about a book he’s read. He’s dozing off over a cup of hot chocolate, tired but happy. For a moment he can almost taste the sweet cookies on his tongue, and the warm arm wrapped around him, and Bruce’s voice calling him ‘Jaylad’ and— 

“He’s never given up the hope that you’d visit sometime, so he makes them to be prepared, I guess,” Nightwing shrugs, unable to read Hood’s reaction through the helmet. 

“He’d like me to visit?” Jason’s voice comes out way more shocked than he ever intended, and he barely keeps it from breaking. It startles Dick, and rightly so.

“We all would, Ja- Hood,” Dick almost slips up, almost ignored the _‘codenames only while in costume’_ rule, possibly the only rule Batman ever made that remotely makes sense. 

Jason feels that pang in his heart again.

**_calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting -_ **

Nightwing backs away, misreading Jason’s stillness as barely contained anger. There’s a lot of anger in Jason, true, and they learned to err on the side of caution and assume he’s going to explode whenever they can’t read him.

“Not that I’m— Don’t feel pressured. Just, you know. The old man would enjoy it very much if you dropped by for tea sometime.” He’s silent for a moment as Jason processes the newfound knowledge. Then, without another word, Nightwing salutes him and grapples away, soon disappearing in between the skyscrapers of Gotham.

Pressing the doorbell on the side of the giant Wayne Mansion gate is anything but easy. But he’s a big boy and he can manage. 

After psyching himself up for a good five minutes.

Sure, he could just scale it and open the door for himself, too, while he’s at it, but somehow… it doesn’t feel appropriate. Not after he hadn’t set foot on the premises for… years. 

There’s a soft beep when the intercom turns on.

He grins goofily into the camera.

There are no words, just a gasp, and the gate slowly rolls open before him.

Alfred welcomes him at the door.

“Master Jason!” he says, a little breathless, as if not entirely believing his eyes, arms open wide. Jason accepts the hug. The older man feels small and fragile in his arms. “It’s so good to see you, Master Jason.”

“I heard ya miss me, Alfie,” he says softly, all his worries suddenly dissipating the moment he’s welcomed so fondly. Not even the looming presence of the Manor and all the mixed feelings he has for the place can spoil it for him now. “I also heard you had some snacks for me,” he adds with a smirk, so characteristic for him.

Alfred smiles and leads him inside. “I’m happy you decided to pay us a visit, young master. It’d be delightful to celebrate your birthday properly for once.”

Instead towards the kitchen, Alfred leads him deeper into the Mansion. He doesn’t oppose, confused. The butler finally stops in front of the door to the big living room. He opens it before Jason.

“Everyone-” the elder addresses the room with a broad smile, and every head inside snaps to them, “-the most special guest is with us.”

The room falls silent for a split second as the entire Bat clan looks at Jason with wide eyes.

**_over and over announcing your place_ **

Dick is first to spring to his feet, and immediately throws himself at Jason. “Jay!” He catches him, reluctantly, and Dick cuddles up to him. 

He assumes they give his appearance so much significance because they hadn’t seen him out of costume for so long, and because he never visited before. Hadn’t talked to the Bats much, either. He’s basically a stranger by now. Instead of treating him like one, though, they all look… well, shocked, mostly, but also generally not angry about it, so he takes it as a good sign.

“Jason?” Tim asks, meek and confused, but without a hint of displeasure. It throws Jason off.

Damian tilts his head, then clicks his tongue. “Todd,” the boy acknowledges him. That's about as much affection one can get from the kid, so Jason smirks in response.

Cass waves at him silently, smiling, Stephanie grins like an idiot. Barbara simply nods in approval. Duke is silent and stiff, and one could interpret that as him being discontent. But Jason knows the boy hasn’t got a single bad bone in him, and on a whim, chooses to interpret his reaction as bewildered, but otherwise not unhappy, which is good between people who barely know each other.

The last to speak up is, of course, Bruce.

The man stands up from his giant armchair and walks up to Jason. He tenses up, absolutely expecting some kind of judgemental remark. He’s not entirely sure what kind of lecture Bruce could give him in this situation, but he expects being chastised anyway. Old habits die hard.

Instead, Bruce smiles and gently puts his heavy hand on Jason’s shoulder.

“Welcome home, my son,” he says, and Jason can’t do anything about the tears that well up in his eyes.

**_in the family of things._ **

**Author's Note:**

> Used poem is ["Wild geese" by Mary Oliver](http://www.phys.unm.edu/~tw/fas/yits/archive/oliver_wildgeese.html).


End file.
